


Roundhouse

by BD99



Category: Wicked Lawless Love (Visual Novel)
Genre: Banter, Bickering, Brooding, F/F, Old Western, Sparring, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24090757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BD99/pseuds/BD99
Summary: As they're sparring, Roslyn and Cecelia fall into a familiar bout of a different sort of sparring.
Relationships: Cecelia Visconti x MC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Roundhouse

**Author's Note:**

> This written after listening to Poison by Alice Cooper. I feel that song captures their push and pull perfectly.

“Getting slow in your advancing age, Warden Visconti?” Roslyn’s cheerful voice echoed through the room as she ducked another swipe. Whoosh, whoosh, swish! She parried a series of jabs and swings as she weaved around. With each step, her heeled boots echoed against the aged floorboards, sounding like a damn merry jig in a busy saloon. Her steps kicked at a fine layer of dust, hazing the air around her ankles as she kept time with a beat no mortal should be able to follow. Her footwork had to be beyond flawless, any mistake would be preyed upon by one Cecelia Visconti, Warden Ranger, the Ward’s finest. The Desert rose.

Wine red hair filled Roslyn’s vision, even as everything screamed at her to fall left. As if pulled by strings, she allowed herself to fall, narrowly avoiding a jab mortal eyes never could have seen. Claws glistened in the low lighting, extended to catch the little mortal the legendary vampire was toying with. Upon finding thin air, Cecelia lifted those claws to her hair, brushing the subtle curls back from her pale face.

Goddess, she was stunning. The epitome of a princess from the worn tales Roslyn had tucked into her rucksack. Cecelia’s fine lips were perfect, right down to the adorable cupids bow, enhanced by a midnight red that stood out against skin whiter than freshly fallen snow. The graceful swoop of her jaw led beautifully into delicate high cheekbones, which barely needed the faintest tinge of blush she used to blend in with humanity. Her gentle grey eyes were a devils snare; captivating at the slightest glance, even with how angular they were made to appear with generous helpings of dark eyeliner and smokey red shadow.

Roslyn had to blink away her distraction quickly, or at least buy herself some time to recover. Her high kick was effortlessly flicked aside as if it were a fly buzzing just a little too close. Cecelia added insult to injury by arching one of her sharp brows, even as she lazily battered aside a second kick from the young witch, faux judgement dripping from her voice as she asked.

“Miss Arosi, didn’t anyone teach you it is rude to imply a woman’s age?”

“I never aimed to be a polite lady.” Roslyn found herself retorting as she rolled to the side. Crouched low, she made a desperate grab for the makeshift flag tucked into Cecelia’s corset, only to find herself snatching at empty air. A few feet away, Cecelia seemed to materialise, lips peeled away from glistening teeth in a fond smile.

“A rather stark fact.”

“Your dancing is off today, Cecelia, maybe you should hang ye boots up. Surely you remember the tune, why doncha dance to it properly?” Roslyn taunted, continuing to lunge for the vampire. Cecelia continued withdrawing, ducking and weaving without ever striking out. Her deflections were gentle, borderline timid, which only served to fuel the fire in Roslyn’s belly. The nonchalance Cecelia presented was a painfully blatant insult, which only ruffled the Witch’s feathers with every miss.

“Is that what you want, little witchling? For me to dance with you?”

There was something darker in Cecelia’s tone, laced between every perfectly enunciated word. There was no loose slang to be found in Cecelia’s dialect, after all that would be unbecoming of a lady of noble birth. Her expression had changed, no longer lazy amusement, but something unidentifiable and sharp. Silver eyes darkened to near black in the low lighting; as though a moon eclipsed by a shadow of death on a quiet night. If Roslyn was a superstitious woman, she may have sworn the room grew a few degrees cooler. Instead, she felt her own heat spike along with her the tempo of her heart. Suddenly, her throat was far too tight for her to form the words she so desperately wanted to; for her to continue her playful banter with a woman centuries older than she. Pinned beneath the gaze of a predator, Roslyn could only offer a small whisper, one which was lost to her own ears. Whatever she said seemed to strike a chord in the vampire, who turned her gaze away as she begun to speak, their game long forgotten.

“Mortals are ravaged by time until nought but memory remains. They are notes in a melody only the immortal can recite. Your heartbeat is near, as is the song of your blood. Your song. Now, I can indulge in the melody. Soon, it will only be a piece I can recall.” Cecelia’s voice was quiet, as if speaking any louder might disrupt the stillness creeping over them. Her expression felt like something no mortal was ever meant to behold, not if they were to see the sun rise that morning. Yet, somewhere, there was the melancholy of a century of loneliness. Lifetimes of agony more profound than any poet of the ages could capture.

“And play in the saloon on lonely nights?” Roslyn attempted to tease, to force her vocal chords to rebuke the darkness long enough to see a smile grow on the vampire’s lips once again. The Witch lunged, hand extended for the flag.

“Perhaps...” Cecelia didn’t even look when she captured Roslyn’s wrist. Her grip was painstakingly gentle, as if she were holding the most beloved of her delicate treasures. Both knew Roslyn could have pushed further, could wrestle free without any form of effort or spark of magic, yet the Witch did neither. She allowed Cecelia to hold her wrist; to mindlessly rub over the pounding of her pulse. Mindless the touch may have been, yet it held unyielding devotion; a tenderness that robbed Roslyn of any urge to move, or her ability to form coherent words as her gaze rose to meet Cecelia’s.

“There are many parts of that melody to play. Heart. Blood. Soul. A single musician would be pressed to even master a single element.” Cecelia’s words were sweet, her eyes glistening with the fondness her words could never express, yet all it did was fire Roslyn up yet again. The Witch frowned, yanking her hand back as sharply as if she’d been burned.

“Well maybe more would know it if you weren’t fit to be tied at the concept.” Roslyn lashed out, her jaw fixing into a diamond cutting edge under the pressure of her tensing. If looks could kill, Cecelia would have become ashes beneath the pale green glare. Roslyn wasn’t foolish. She knew Cecelia’s problem with other vampires closing in, especially THIS vampire, though that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting of Cecelia’s distancing; of the whiplash her shifting affections and methods gave the fledgling witch. One moment, Cecelia was nothing more than a shadow; a whisper on the edge of her hearing, or a dream she wished was real. The next, Cecelia was a snarling demon; a hissing panther cursed by the depths of hell that sought to violently chase every potential rival away from what was hers. Her prize. Her feast. Her witch.

“Roslyn.” The warning in Cecelia’s voice was outweighed by the weariness that cut to ancient bones.

“Gonna go airing your lungs, Visconti? You’ve already hissed like a cat outta hell.” The accusation came out burning, molten from the Witch’s tongue as she yet again lunged. This time, gentleness was abandoned. She lunged with precision, recklessly sliding right under the vampire’s guard. Cecelia did not play chicken this time. Cool hands grasped Roslyn, spinning the witch away from the flag and against her own body. A punch, or what was meant to be a punch, found her back pressed into Cecelia’s chest for a brief moment. A thrown elbow found her arm wrapped around Cecelia’s neck, fingers locked around her wrist once more in an almost intimate gesture, before the vampire pushed her away.

“You do not fully understand what it means for a vampire to claim.” Cecelia was forced to pause abruptly as a book flew for her head. Roslyn felt the words in those pages, the essence of lust burning within the unspeakably poorly written erotica her magic intentionally hurled at the vampire’s head.

“It is not a romantic affair you would read about in a penny dreadful.” Cecelia stated, holding one of the offending books aloft as a shield. With an almost aggravated sigh, she used the book to smack a second aside. Then a third.

“Maybe if you explained more, I’d stay above snakes!” Roslyn hissed back, kicking at Cecelia once more. The vampire flowed beneath her blow, almost walking on her knees for how low she ducked before she swept her foot out, catching Roslyn behind the knee. The Witch never even had time to grunt before an arm wrapped around her waist, sparing her a brutal fall in favour of tossing her like a rag doll towards one of the waiting chairs.

“You ask me to harm you when there are alternatives! I would drink you dry, Witchling, if only to hear you scream my name so sweetly.” Cecelia stated, her voice dropping into something husky. The sound of her boots tapping across the floor set a haunting tempo as she approached, only halting her advance long enough to place the book gently on one of the side tables. Once more, that unspeakable element robbed Roslyn of her capacity to move, as if a physical weight had settled atop her chest and refused to budge for any mortal reason. She was pinned beneath midnight eyes, even from halfway across the room, which sent a delicious thrill running up her spine. Danger was, after all, intoxicating when Cecelia was involved. As much as the vampire presented the darkness of the world, she embodied restraint beyond even the gods. The word itself fell short compared to her legendary control. Control which Roslyn was amped to push just a little further...

“If screaming is whatcha want - ooffmmphh!” Whatever Roslyn had intended to say was driven from her lungs. In a flash, Cecelia had leapt across the room to physically seize the witch by the throat. Despite her long claws, sharp and deadly against Roslyn’s flesh, the hand surrounding her throat was so gentle. So careful not to inflict any damage despite the violence of the gesture. Cecelia’s thumb rested against Roslyn’s pulse, only to caress down her jugular vein as carefully as possible. The chill of the vampire’s hand was enough to make Roslyn shudder, even as she gazed up into the morphed face of the Desert Rose.

It seemed impossible that Cecelia could appear any paler, yet her skin had shifted from pale to bloodless. The blood seeped from her eyes, rising over her brows in wisps reminiscent of smoke. Blood also fell, dripping from her eyes like tears until it formed the bottom of a unique pattern that reminded Roslyn of the wings of a butterfly. This was Cecelia’s true face. The face of a vampire born to a bloodline of terror. To gaze upon this face was to embrace death as a long lost lover, for no Vampire would rightfully let their prey go once they were within their grasp. Cecelia swore herself no different. That her true face had to be met with blood across her tongue before she could rest. Roslyn found herself staring into true darkness... it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“You know,” Roslyn began in a dry whisper, licking her suddenly parched lips. They lived in a desert, thirst was a faithful companion, yet Roslyn not fool enough to blame the heat for her thirst. This was all the fault of the gorgeous vampire. The full effect of Cecelia’s presence, instead of how she so often muted herself. It didn’t help the vampire’s knee had landed on the chair, soundly between the Witches thighs in a manner bordering on provocative.

“in the penny dreadfuls they have a safeword.” The Witch concluded, finding enough of her own spark to offer an all too pleased smirk at Cecelia’s soft gasp. Lips more red than rubies parted ever so slightly, the beautiful doors guarding the delicious secrets of elongated fangs. Each gleamed like a solitary beam of moonlight in the darkness.

“I would kill you, Roslyn Arosi.” Cecelia’s statement was delivered in an icy tone.

“Your song would be drowned and your beautiful spark extinguished. My thrill would come at your agony, if not your life. That I cannot abide, no matter the temptation.” Cecelia concluded, leaning so close to Roslyn that her cold breath bathed the Witch’s face. Magnolia, woodsmoke and ancient books flooded Roslyn’s senses on her single caught breath. The words were familiar enough, everyone warned her away from Cecelia and her ilk, as if a common vampire was anything like Cecelia. What stole her breath was the agony within Cecelia’s eyes, which had become as dark as the sky with a blood red eclipse playing the only colour. These terrifying eyes did not fill Roslyn with dread, not even with the threat on her life hanging between them. Instead, they rended her soul open, filling her with such melancholy she had to swallow back her own sorrows. How many lifetimes had Cecelia spent so alone that she’d gleefully dedicate herself to an order which judged her for her birth? How could she believe herself this monster without cause or reason?

“So, you’re scared you’ll kill me? That your, oh so fine, control would be put to some test?” Roslyn tried to keep her voice steady. The vampire made her heart race in all the ways any decent folk would call wrong. The Witch couldn’t help but ponder what Cecelia’s bloodied mask would taste like beneath her lips. What immortality would taste like? Was it so craven to wish for such a thing? To wish to care for the vampire in the ways she so desperately desired?

“A test I would fail. Your blood sings to me as none other. Knowing the power it could grant me... it only sweetens temptation, and the price is one my soul is unable to pay.” Cecelia sighed, letting her head fall just a little closer to Roslyn’s. Cool skin teased Roslyn’s forehead for the briefest of moments, as if the vampire was prepared to cross an unspoken threshold and indulge a mortal intimacy. Then, Cecelia withdrew, drowning any hint of tenderness beneath a stern mask.

“It always comes down to blood, doesn’t it? I’m just the Witch.”

“You are more than a Witch. You are brilliant, resourceful, masterful. That is in spite of you being a Witch. Though, it cannot be ignored that you are a Witch. Just as I am a Vampire.” Cecelia responded almost as soon as Roslyn’s lips had formed her own words. Talons designed to rip and maim came up to Roslyn’s face, delicately curling around a stray lock of erratic ice blonde hair. Yet again, Cecelia’s reverence for life showed as she tucked that strand of hair back into place and brushed it down with the tips of her claws. Gentle. Kind. Caring. Everything Cecelia was shone so brightly, dazzling the Witch.

“You are more than just a Vampire, Cecelia. Everything in me can sense that, otherwise you’d feel like the other vampires. I know how they gaze at mortals, Cecelia, and it turns my stomach. With Maestro, the only thing I wanted of him was to see him burn. You’re different.” Roslyn countered, reaching up with her own hand in an effort to capture the Vampire’s. Cold flesh was no longer a shock to the Witch, in fact, she found Cecelia’s low temperature a comfort in the desert heat. The vampire made no move to resist, nor did she surrender to Roslyn’s touch. Cecelia simply froze, staring unblinkingly into Roslyn’s eyes.

“Unless you’re holding an ace over me?” The Witch taunted, lips quirking to reveal how little she believed that. It was enough to draw a reaction from Cecelia, who shook her own head as she spoke.

“I hold myself as I must.”

“Are you telling me you’ve always held yourself back? That I’ve never seen or felt you as your true self?” Roslyn pressed. A shadow of guilt flickered over Cecelia’s face, even as she averted her gaze.

“No. You have been under my compulsion of your own will.” Cecelia informed. Roslyn shivered at that. She remembered that moment well. When she’d so willingly put herself under Cecelia’s training to resist the compulsion of a vampire. When she’d turned the training by tearing her own walls down and giving everything she was over to Cecelia’s power. A show of trust that the Vampire had scarcely believed, and had refused to take complete advantage of. Cecelia used that situation as a show of her danger, yet it only affirmed Roslyn’s belief.

“And my gaze through unfortunate circumstance.” Cecelia shamefully concluded, keeping her eyes anywhere but Roslyn. Those words were enough to kickstart Roslyn’s heart.

“That night at the bank, when you almost bit me...” The Witch’s whisper trailed off. The desires raised that night had been craven, everything mortal folk would call wicked. As Cecelia had torn through their attackers, Roslyn had been frozen. Watching the Vampire mow the thugs down like wheat in the field had not terrified Roslyn at all. If anything, she had become entirely enthralled. Cecelia’s feast, bandit by bandit, had only left Roslyn shivering in sympathy. How Cecelia’s gaze had devoured her had only made Roslyn want to be devoured. How blood had darkened perfect lips had made Roslyn crave. She’d wanted Cecelia pressed so impossibly close, cold lips against her throat as flesh yielded to perfect fangs. She’d wanted to accept that moment of pain to give Cecelia everything. She’d wanted that devastating tide of intimacy, to feel Cecelia revel in what her body could give. That delicious promise had shaken the Witch long after the night had ended.

“If that was your worst, then you’re a damn tease, Warden Visconti.” Roslyn somehow managed to seize a vestige of her playfulness, enough to startle Cecelia.

“Are you bereft of sense?” The vampire demanded, voice raised enough to be offensive compared to their lowered voices. Roslyn flinched.

“I would have destroyed you, and myself, had I not regained my senses!” Cecelia almost spat the words, her tone filled with the horror she felt at the topic. Roslyn could almost feel how Cecelia had grabbed her, as close as she’d ever dreamed and as effortlessly as she’d feared. She could remember how Cecelia’s single word, her claim, had shaken her to the core. How delicious it had felt when Cecelia growled “mine” before the cold graze of Cecelia’s tongue across her flesh, relishing the saltiness of sweat before fangs had grazed from jaw to jugular. A threat of a bite that never happened. Cecelia had stopped herself, had been taken to the bare threads of her control and still chosen to revere Roslyn’s life instead of feast upon it.

“This is nothing like that night, Cecelia. It isn’t even directly from the source. I think you’re making a dog’s breakfast out of a simple situation.”

“Are you to continue binding me in knots for the hell of it? I am aware of my nature and the risks my desires pose. Even the slightest taste could have me succumb!” Cecelia was downright annoyed now, almost trembling as her control snapped. The pain in her eyes nearly swayed Roslyn from her course. Even the thought alone was undoing the ancient woman, it was unravelling her thread by thread before Roslyn’s very eyes. Still, the Witch held firm. Cecelia was stubborn, as set in her ways as any ancient creature, oft times beyond her own good if you asked Roslyn’s opinion. It was infuriating, enough for Roslyn’s veins to heat for a different reason. How could Cecelia not see how good she was? How could she not see that the trust Roslyn had in her was entirely earned? That Roslyn was not acting on whim or fancy, but on considered risk?

“You are a vampire, a mighty fine one at that, but you‘re no monster. My magic wouldn’t let me rest easy within a few feet of you, if you were. You harm, sure, and it is a ballet of death when you let go, but you unleash on the real monsters. On those who deserve it. You’re a tamer, Cecelia, not a beast. You don’t make everything inside me want to hightail it.” Roslyn explained, reaching out to cup the Vampire’s cheeks in her hands. Her touch was gentle despite her talent for chaos, imploring Cecelia to open her heart and listen. Roslyn needed Cecelia to hear the words, well and truly hear them. Know them. Believe them. If it was the last thing Roslyn dedicated herself to, it would be worth it for Cecelia to understand she was not the monster she painted herself to be.

“Which makes you more the fool, my little witchling. Trusting me so intimately is a mistake you would never live to regret.”

Whilst Cecelia spoke of death, Roslyn could only picture life. Sharing her life, her blood, to give Cecelia everything. To take the melancholic piece of music Cecelia had written in place of sunlight and show her the REAL thing. Roslyn longed to help Cecelia feel the sun, even if it was for a brief moment. To show Cecelia her first sunrise, to watch the vampire’s face as she felt sunlight without pain, with chestnut hair blazing gloriously. Roslyn wanted Cecelia to be happy, damn it! She wanted Cecelia alive and with her, not stuck in shadows or struck down by a superior ancient being!

“Every vampire wants a piece of me, Cecelia. You can’t hiss at all of them. One vampire? Sure, you can probably clean his plough, or at least clip his horns. Then what? One down, rest of the world to go? I can’t hide in your coattails for the rest of my life, or until the Ward decides to lock me away.” Roslyn delivered the truth with a frustrated exhale.

“That won’t... You will pass your tests.” Cecelia declared confidently, almost as if there was no other alternative.

“And if I don’t? There has to be someone higher up than Kellan. If they catch onto me, then what? The Ward crates me god-knows-where, never to see you again.” Roslyn pressed. The concept made her chest feel tight, as if her heart had been torn to shreds between beats. She’d never been one to stay in one place, but now she had friends. She had people she cared about, and who cared about her. This sleepy little town had become as much of a home to her as Whisper’s saddle.

“Nobody will take you. I will not allow that to happen!” Cecelia declared, fangs bared in barely restrained fury. The Vampire’s shoulders curled inwards, as if she could wrap her own body around Roslyn as a soft growl built. If Roslyn didn’t know better, she’d have sworn a rumbling lion had taken residence in Cecelia’s throat. Instead, she recognised it for what it was. A violent subconscious territorial reaction from an ancient vampire. The memory of Cecelia’s full growl still gripped her mind. The sound had been so inhuman it had turned all heads when Cecelia had unconsciously unleashed it. It had been a sound more vicious than any wild cat, something drawn from depths of Hell even a Witch would never touch.

For all the viciousness, Cecelia’s eyes did not follow suit. There was something devastatingly gentle held within the eclipse, a vulnerability that did not belong. Vampires did not grow attached as a rule, not to mortals, for they lived with the memories forever. It was a terrifying thought, to think of Cecelia living with the loss half shining in her eyes, forever. Somehow, Roslyn didn’t feel that time could soften the edge, nor heal the wound such a loss would leave behind. It was something that was going to eventually destroy Cecelia, if her duty to the Ward didn’t claim her first.

“You’re all down but nine, Warden Visconti. There’ll always be a vampire looking to claim me.” Roslyn pointed out, gathering her courage enough to press into Cecelia’s space. The Vampire noticeably balked, withdrawing at the slow pace Roslyn set. That was a thrill, enough to make Roslyn smile as she moved to find her feet. Expectedly, Cecelia gave the ground without fight, almost staggering backwards. What a picture they must have painted, a vampire practically fleeing her meal as said meal silently gloated.

“It can be done without killing me, otherwise Kellan wouldn’t have searched me for your claim. If anybody could, it would be you, Cecelia.” Roslyn pressed, her voice kept low and steady. The warmth of her breath mingled with Cecelia’s as she crowded the vampire, continuing to walk Cecelia backwards with gentle hands placed over Cecelia’s collar. An array of texture teased her palms, the crisp edge where cloth became translucent lace windows. The marble cool of Cecelia’s skin trapped behind such delicate cloth. The rise and fall of Cecelia’s chest. The vampire didn’t need breath, yet she scented the Witch with every inhale. She was greedy, coming as close as she dared to taking what she swore she could never be allowed.

“So,” Roslyn licked her lips hesitantly, allowing her gaze to flicker down to Cecelia’s lips for an instant to inspect her fangs. She’d seen them in action. She’d seen them tear out throats, feasting on begging men until their pleas and blood ran dry. Yet, right now, they seemed almost innocent. Just sharper teeth hidden behind luscious, blood darkened lips. Would they be so lethal if Cecelia was intending to be gentle? Would those fangs be the knives to end her life? Or would they be painless? Would they slice cleanly through her flesh if the Vampire lost control? The Witch shook aside those thoughts, forcing herself to meet. Cecelia’s gaze once more.

“way I see it, less you’ve got a better bee in your bonnet, just claim me. I get what I want, you get what you want.” Her words were punctuated by the rattle of the bookcase Cecelia’s back was pressed to. As the vampire squirmed to escape the situation, her elbow collided with the books, sending several falling to the ground. Both vampire and witch froze for a moment, sizing one another up in their current situation. Then, the annoyance in Cecelia’s expression melted to fond amusement. Roslyn laughed; her seductive delivery ruined by the Vampire’s well timed burst of clumsiness. She chose not to comment on her suspicions that Cecelia hadn’t been clumsy at all. She granted mercy, withdrawing with a playful wink and a swish of magic to retrieve her hat.

“Think about it.”


End file.
